Compounding Problems
by Siskiyou
Summary: Six months after the Narada disaster Uhura knows something is wrong with Spock. Turns out, he's made a really bad choice, but help is right there. Good thing we have Dr. McCoy around.
1. Chapter 1

Compounding Problems

On board the Enterprise, six months or so after the Narada incident.

A/N: Plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. Spock makes a big mistake. He also discovers who supports him when he's down.

Uhura's POV

"To what do I owe this honor, my dear Lieutenant?" Dr. McCoy looks up, happy to see me.

I stand with my arms crossed, obviously defensive. I tap my toe, look to one side.

He quickly ushers me into his office and closes the door. "Security code three. There. That's about as private as we can get. First off, take a seat and I'll get you a nice…what? Cup of hot tea?"

I nod, still unable to look the doctor in the eye.

He replicates a cup of tea and settles in across his desk from me. He pulls a container from his desk drawer.

"No sense letting all this dandy privacy go to waste." He toasts me with his hip flask and takes a swig, then pours a bit into a glass before he tucks it neatly away into an equipment drawer. "It's the hobgoblin, isn't it?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat and nod. "You know, he hates it when you call him that."

"I know." The Doctor says, leaning forward onto the desk. "He's pushing you away? Throwing himself into work? Going ultra-Vulcan on you?"

I shrug a little, blinking back tears.

"We both know…he's gone through a hell of a lot lately."

"I…know. I know, but…" I take a breath, let it go slowly. "I've tried talking to him. But…it's like talking to a wall. He's changed…and I don't mean from the disaster. I mean…recently."

Dr. McCoy swirls a brown fluid around the bottom of a small glass, but doesn't actually take a drink. "Yeah. Something about him has been bothering me lately, too. I mean, more than just his usual annoyingly arrogant Vulcan self. He's seemed more than controlled. Flat aspect. Robotic."

I nod eagerly, relieved to not be alone in seeing it. "Yes. Not just a higher level of Vulcan control but…emotionally absent."

"Things between you…?"

I shake my head slightly, looking down. "I've been blaming myself. Things got worse after I…I said it was grinding me down."

The doctor frowns slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Just the constant…awful subtext…you know, the grief. He meditates, he over sleeps, he runs in the gym for _hours_. It's a constant struggle. It's just…always _there._" I bow forward and lean my face in my hands for a moment, then gather myself together again. "I just wanted to lighten up for a while, to laugh again. I went out for a weekend on Starbase Four with some friends to dance and blow off some steam…" I take a breath. "When I came back he was…different."

"Don't blame yourself Uhura. He has a lot to work through."

"I think something's really wrong with him."

"You don't think he's suicidal, do you? Has he said anything?"

I shake my head firmly. "No. It's not like that." God, I hope not. "He's just totally neutral. Like a…a Kohlinaru."

"Kohlinaru…those Vulcan monks that purge all emotion. I've heard of them. They…you don't suppose he did it? Purged out all of his emotions?"

"No. He couldn't have. Not without help: a healer or an adept." But I'm not one hundred percent sure. Nothing about Spock is certain in the best of times.

The Doctor steeples his hands, and then rubs his index fingertips over his chin. "Well, let me worry about him later. Right now, let's talk a little more about you."


	2. Chapter 2

McCoy's POV

I never thought I'd meet anyone as arrogant and cocksure as Jim Kirk. Well, that damn Vulcan sure gives him a pretty good run for the money. Two goddamn prize race-horses and each about as high strung. Kirk, yeah, well, I understand a good laundry list of the reasons why he is the way he is. The hobgoblin? I've got my ideas. But any sentient being would be a mess after the crap Spock's gone through.

He just squeaked through on his redeployment psych evaluations. As a result I can make him come in weekly for counseling—even _he_ knew that would be unavoidable-and it's gone just about as badly as I expected. 'Course, it doesn't help much that we didn't exactly start off on the right foot with each other.

Jim _likes_ to have me punch holes in his bullshit. Spock, not so much.

Did I notice the sudden shut-down? Sure. Kind of expected his reaction: first trauma, then shock and retreat. Normal, even for a Vulcan. Hell, for me and most of the rest of the survivors of the disaster, too. I guess I figured going hyper Vulcan was Spock's version of regressive behavior. Why not? After all, there's no manual for normal for Vulcan/Human hybrids.

Uhura's anxiety's making me question my watch and wait strategy. Maybe even for Spock…he's gone too far on the shut-down. God, I don't get what a hot little thing like her sees in him.

But I respect love. And she obviously loves the over-compensating son of a bitch.

So I tell her to hang in there. That he probably needs her now more than ever.


	3. Chapter 3

Uhura's POV

As I search for my missing ponytail band, I think of Spock's comment last week. With complete neutrality he noted I'd reduced the personal items I'd left in his quarters by fifty-one percent. Almost as if he'd been tracking a mental graph of my slow ebb out of his life.

I look under his bed. No bands there. Once upon a time I might have had several strays abandoned there…and I smile to myself remembering why. I stand and sigh. Some little sound niggles at me and I dismiss it. Maybe there's a band left on the shelf by those awful Vulcan weapons he has hung on the wall. Nothing, no bands there either.

There it is again. The tiniest beep, very high pitched. I follow the sound into the restroom, probably the most likely place for finding a hair-band anyhow.

Now it's unmistakable: a tiny beep. It's not my imagination—it's coming from under the sink in the storage compartment: a sound I know doesn't belong there. Well, it's the only other place to look for my hairband. The beep sounds like a warning, like a shaver that's lost its charge.

If my ponytail band isn't there, I guess it's the walk of shame for me. I'll have to head back to my own quarters with my hair down.

I kneel down and open the panel, thinking it wouldn't be like him, anyhow, to just toss my hairband in there, but-

I gasp at what _is_ there.

I fall onto my backside in shock.

I recognize the blue light for what it is: a micro-field distortion screen. I reach into the cupboard and remove the device, no larger than a pack of playing cards, and shut it off. Illegal. Very expensive, and designed to hide contraband from security scans. Oh, fuck, _fuck._

And what it's hiding is this: a micro-replication unit. I'm not just Communications, I'm an Intelligence Officer. This kind of unit compounds illegal drugs. I numbly pull the unit out onto the floor and used cartridges spill out with it. Of course. If they went into recycling they'd trigger an alert. I look into the storage unit and see dozens more, and a hypo spray.

The micro lab beeps, and I examine its controls. The unit's readout is in Ferenghi and I shudder—by definition, whatever it's producing is going to be highly addictive. The most _profitable. _I struggle to decipher the name of the compound it's producing. McCoy will know what it is, but I can guess by the roots of the word what its producing: anodyne, pain killer. I push down my growing panic and anger.

I stand and carry the unit to his desk.

"Lieutenant Uhura to Commander Spock. Your quarters, sir. Now."

I click off before he can even respond.

He breezes into his quarters with his usual brisk walk, if anything looking impatient.

"Lieutenant I hope you can explain this unusual…"

For a second he is completely at a loss. His eyes go from the machine on the desk to my face. "Explain."

"You're asking _me_ to explain?"

"You searched my quarters…."

My hair is still down around my shoulders. "Yes. For a hair-band." I take a step closer to him, and he stiffens. "What does it make, Spock? Why are you doing this?"

He stares over my head. "A…Vulcan narcotic. A…powerful pain killer."

"Obviously illegal. Why would you do this?"

"For the obvious reason."

"No. It's _not_ obvious!"

"Because…" And for an instant there is almost an emotion there, he is almost defensive. He stops himself, and looks into my eyes. "It helps me function. Because with it I…feel _nothing_."

I am so angry, so horrified, I lunge at him with a growl, pulling up first one of his sleeves, then the other, looking for some sign, some confirmation that he's really done this to himself. Nothing. Then I pull up the bottom of his tunic, his undershirt and see them: the characteristic bruises of the hypospray. His lower abdomen is checkered with them.

He doesn't fight me. He stands there staring straight ahead again.

After a long moment of silence he meets my eyes, and then reaches for the comm. I grab his wrist, stopping him.

"What are you doing?"

"Turning myself in to Security. My actions have placed you in a regrettable position."

"Yes they have, but I won't let you turn yourself in to Security."

"I have willfully violated Star Fleet Code, sections Fou—"

I interrupt him hotly. "You have a _right_ to treatment. Personnel Code, Section Ten point-"

"_I do not_….I am not in need of…" I can see the wheels turning in his head: the resistance, his relentlessly logical self-evaluation. Finally, he swallows and closes his eyes. "I have made a serious error in judgment, Nyota. I believed I could control this. The evidence is before me. I cannot."

"I'll help you. Let me help you."

He does not focus on me; his expression flickers weirdly between _nothing_ and dismay.

"There is no pain and yet…I have still…lost control."

When I put my arms around him, he is shaking. Slowly…for the first time in far too long, and with difficulty, Spock returns my embrace.

He whispers into my hair, "Nyota..."


	4. Chapter 4

McCoy's POV

I look up to see the Chief Communications Officer stride into Sick Bay with a look on her face that means business. She's closely tailed by Commander Spock, who's carrying a small piece of machinery.

"Your office, Doctor McCoy." She commands.

I open my mouth to say something cynical, but think better of it and simply wave them past me into my office. Uhura palms the door closed and points from Spock to my desk. He sets the machine down.

My face tightens into the same expression as Uhura's. "This is serious."

I bend down to examine the compounding lab and give a low whistle. "Ferenghi micropharma compounding lab." I straighten and look Spock in the eye. "And a good one. I've heard of this kind but never seen one. They cost a fortune." I bend back down and examine it, but basically seen one seen 'em all. It just takes a moment for me to figure out what someone had the micro-lab cooking.

"Some idiot was dumb enough to try selling you Kohlinaroin, Spock?"

Oddly, he looks away.

"Kohlinaroin, Doctor?" Uhura asks.

"Street slang for…oh, we'd also call it Romulan heroin back in my Emergency Room days. In fact, ah, sorry to mention, Spock, but it was a thoroughly homegrown Vulcan drug. They didn't have problems with it on Vulcan far as I know, but it was something of a recreational drug off planet. An emotional purgative, supposedly. Only a Vulcan would find _that_ recreational."

I realize the thing is still operational, so I bend over it again, trying to figure out how to disable it. "But there are rumors that the Romulan military is familiar with it, too. 'Course they wouldn't care about the fatal side effects." I press a combination of patterns, a little knowledge and a lot of educated guessing and the thing powers down. I straighten back up.

I give Spock my best cynical look to try to bait a response from him, but he only stares at me with that bland non- expression. "In Fleet ER, we'd get Vulcan students who'd show up sick from trying the stuff and needing to kick it before going home." I sigh and straighten up. "The dosage this machine was compounding is dangerously high. Well past addictive. Good thing you caught them before they killed someone." I put my hands on my hips. "So who's the idiot this belongs to?"

Uhura turns to Spock and I can't help but feel a little sorry for whichever crewman Spock caught with the illegal equipment. He's probably glad to be in the brig and away from the Vulcan dressing-down from hell.

Spock straightens and puts his hands behind his back. "That would be me, Doctor."

I sputter, confused. "What kind of experiment could you possibly be using this for, Spock?"

"The purpose for which it is intended."

"Oh. So, you're investigating the Ferenghi technology." I bend down and start examining the device again. Truth be told, it's a great piece of equipment. I may have to abscond with it if I can get it away from Spock. I could use another compounding device as backup equipment. And a private sector one like this would give me the freedom to directly address xeno-

"Dr. McCoy." The Lieutenant says levelly. "You're not hearing him. He's telling the truth."

I look up again, confused. "Well, spit it out. I have no idea what you're getting at."

Spock reaches for the edge of his uniform shirt and peels it upward a few inches, bringing his black thermal undershirt up with it.

"I found it in his quarters, Leonard." Uhura spills a couple of fistfuls of spent injection cartridges onto my desk top.

I blink in stunned disbelief because the world just stopped making sense. Hypo spray bruising on _Spock's _abdomen…?

Each cartridge represents _dozens_ of dosages.

Spock smooths down his uniform and again his hands swing formally behind his back. "I would characterize the effect as palliative rather than recreational."

I stagger back and sag into my chair, my mouth jawing ineffectively. Finally I bend forward, my head in my hands. "I…I think I'm gonna be sick."


	5. Chapter 5

Uhura's POV

After throwing up into the waste container I pass him, Dr. McCoy staggers out of his office without a backward glance, except for carefully closing the door behind himself. Even with the door closed I can hear a tirade: cursing, the unmistakable sound of a chair being thrown against a wall.

The office door opens and McCoy returns—hair wild, but otherwise in control of himself—and seats himself at his desk as if we had just come in for a consultation.

"I won't recite the regulations you've broken, or the prescribed response, because I'm sure you could repeat all the chapters of Star Fleet Code to me verbatim anyhow."

"Indeed I could."

"I've got just one question…"

But the Doctor falls silent, just staring at Spock.

Spock and I wait for the Doctor, who just shakes his head.

"Presumably the question is 'why did I succumb to this addiction.' I am unsure if I can answer that at present."

"No, Spock. That's not it. If anyone has a shitload of extremely good reasons for wanting not to feel anything it's you. Why makes sense. What I need to know is if you're ready to quit."

"I have no logical alternative."

"But do you _want_ to quit?"

"Want…suggests need; an emotional imperative. I am currently unaffected by such illogical motivations."

The doctor gives me a sour look. "He's even more of an asshole on Kohlinaroin."

I'm stunned, though. "What about me?" I swallow. He feels nothing for me?

Spock turns to me. "You are logical." He blinks, as if realizing something does not quite compute and tries to clarify. "By definition."

McCoy and I look at each other.

"My grieving was, as you said, wearing on you. It was the logical choice. I knew Kohlinaroin would eliminate the…difficulty."

"Oh, _Spock._ How could you do this? Why didn't you just _talk_ to me?"

Dr. McCoy crosses his arms over his chest. "Actions speak louder than words, Lieutenant. He'd do anything not to drive you away. Taking Kohlinaroin was the act of a desperate man."

"May I remind you 'desperation' is an emotion, Doctor?"

McCoy's eyes flash. "You've lost your planet. You lost your mother at your goddamn fingertips. You've lost _everything._ Do you want to lose Nyota, too?"

For a moment Spock has no reaction at all, but he looks stunned not blank. "No. Nonetheless my attempted self-treatment has failed. Extrapolating the trajectory of her withdrawal of time and personal objects from my quarters, and mine from hers, I projected our relationship would terminate within a matter of months."

"I'm not breaking up with you." I hold my hands out to him in the Vulcan way and without hesitation he places his hands on mine. "I've distanced myself only out of self-preservation Spock. I love you." I take a breath, steeling myself. "Is our relationship too much for you, now? Do _you_ want to break up? Or need to?" I give a dry little laugh. "Or worse, determined it's the logical course of action?"

He closes his eyes and I feel a tremor run through him. "I do not wish to lose you. Yet I have again brought you harm and not satisfaction."

"Dr. McCoy can treat you. He can help you get off the Kohlinaroin." I close my eyes and my next words are nearly a sob. "I want you back. The real you, grief and all."

Despite the Kohlinaroin, Spock bends to press his forehead to mine. For an instant I sense all the passion I thought might be gone forever. He steps back and clasps his hands behind his back.

He takes a breath and nods to McCoy. "I am prepared to accept treatment, and the consequences of my actions."


	6. Chapter 6

Kirk's POV

My first reaction is to be _PISSED. _ But my brain kicks in and my next thought is confusion.

_Spock?_

"You heard me." McCoy glances up.

"But…_Spock?" _I sink into the chair facing McCoy's desk. "If you made a list of all the crew likely to pull something like this…he'd be last on it."

"Turns out Spock's not alone. Ferenghi pharmaceuticals dealers are targeting the Vulcans and there's something of an epidemic. The Federation Council has passed an emergency measure to address it: funds for treatment, and to catch the bastards targeting the Vulcan disaster survivors. Come on, Jim. It's been six months. They've got to be getting exhausted holding it all in, and couldn't possibly know how to deal with a violent catastrophe of this magnitude. Someone offers them something to just make the pain go away, they're not asking questions."

I stand again and pace Bone's office, my fists at my back. "It's no secret that Kohlinaroin is addictive."

"If you'd spent your life as a Vulcan pretty much succeeding in not feeling much, then experienced Vulcan's destruction, then you were offered something known to make all the pain go away….?"

"I get your drift. I'd just say yes, with no questions asked."

"M'Benga says some of the Vulcans are starting to crumble. They'll be going along appearing just fine and then hit their breaking point. I'm sure no one wants to be next the next man, er, Vulcan, down."

"But…Spock? Of all the rational, controlled people!"

"Nyota."

"Oh."

"She was backing off. Just a little, mind you, for breathing room from it all. But in my opinion, it scared the shit-er, logic out of him."

I take a couple of breaths, rubbing my palms together and thinking. "I feel like we failed him. Like _I_ did."

"Yeah. Me, too. I haven't exactly acted like someone he could come to in a personal crisis."

"So he's accepted the treatment option?"

"He did. Signed the forms even." McCoy bends forward, for a moment resting his forehead on his palms. "He's on such a high dosage of Kohlinaroin he doesn't even feel guilty or embarrassed. He's just taking the logical steps."

Anger flares through me again. "After being caught."

"Jim. Cut him a break. You know he's been suffering."

"He's put my ship at risk."

"It doesn't affect Vulcan's like that, Jim. In a way it's the easy trip to their nirvana: Kohlinar, freedom from emotions. If you want a walking computer, leave him on it and that's what you'd get."

I study Bones, trying to figure out how much to worry. "A living hell."

"For us maybe. Not for Vulcans. But Spock's half human…so you gotta wonder." The Doctor gives me a thoughtful look. "Did you know Kohlinaroin does _nothing_ to humans? You and I could drink the stuff and it wouldn't affect us."

"So why is it classed as an illegal narcotic?"

"Because, after a while, the effect is permanent. It lobotomizes their emotion centers. Then it starts to shut down other parts of their brains, starting with their touch telepathy. Once they can't connect with other Vulcans emotionally or telepathically, they go catatonic and eventually die."

"_Shit_." I'm appalled. Spock had to know how dangerous the drug was.

"Vulcans are less showy about it, but they're social creatures, too; just as much or maybe more so than us humans. Both species go crazy in complete isolation." McCoy shrugs, drumming his fingers on his desktop in thought.

"Bones. He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

"Well, it's still a black mark on his record. And we'll have to watch him like hawk in the future to make sure he doesn't backslide."

"You'll tag him for Kohlinaroin." The ship's system will automatically scan for it now.

"As if he couldn't program a work-around."

"I see." But I don't like it. I may program in a few fail-safes, myself.

"Once he's off the drug, I promise you he'll be mortified. You'll be able to trust him. But it's a drug he's slipped with so he'll be monitored for it."

"What's the treatment?"

"He's already started. I cut him off from the drug completely. Now he has to let it metabolize out of his system. Should take about a week. It's miserable though, because all those nasty emotions come back and hit them all at once. He'll have a couple of tough nights, I'm sure."

I rub my throat. "I assume lock-down is involved."

"I, for one, know better than to stand within arms' reach of a fucked up Vulcan."

"Lieutenant Uhura…knows about all this?"

"She's the one who turned him in."

Good girl: time for a commendation. "I take it you've treated Vulcans for Kohlinaroin addiction before?"

"Yeah. ER deployment. College students of all kinds take stupid risks, Jim."

I stand.

"Go see him, Jim. I can only guess at what he needs, but I want him to know he has your support."

From the doorway to the recovery beds I study my XO. I'm not surprised to find him working, his fingers flying over a keyboard. The room's empty except for him, which must be a relief. It wasn't that long ago this room was filled with Vulcan refuges, and I'm sure the memory is just as vivid for him as it is for me.

He looks up at me: at my crossed arms, then at my face.

I force my arms to my side. I hadn't realized I'd crossed them. "Hey."

He swallows, and I realize I'd blown off his more recent robotic behavior as Spock being—understandably-more Vulcan than usual: his way of dealing with grief, most likely, and none of my business.

"Your condemnation is logical, Captain." He speaks levelly, but much more softly than normal; a personal admission.

"Bones says…you're going to be okay. That's what's important. To the ship." I rest my hand palm up on the side of the bed, an offer. "To me, too."

He stares at my hand, and for a long moment we're silent. He looks away.

"I have been endeavoring to prepare work for my treatment period. It is my intention to continue to perform what duties I can for the duration. I believe the work…may also be a helpful distraction from the side-effects of withdrawal." He says in that same soft voice.

"It's already starting, isn't it?" I say, matching his quiet controlled tone.

His mouth compresses into a tight line. "I thought I could control my use of the substance. That a small amount would be helpful…perhaps…justifiable. Once I began, once I experienced the relief…"

"More seemed...logical?"

He nods. "Kohlinaroin does not affect humans. I thought that would protect me. For once…I was not human enough." He meets my eyes with a self-effacing irony that, to my surprise, I realize I've missed.

I move my hand and clasp it around his. He doesn't pull away, but he flinches.

"Captain…I…"

"Bones says this won't be easy."

"So I have been informed." He swallows, glancing to the side, and I wonder if he's already affected by withdrawal from the drug.

I give his hand a squeeze and let go. "Get well. Get back to work."

Our eyes lock for a good minute of silence, and then he gives a stiff nod. "Yes, sir."


	7. Chapter 7

Spock's POV

I return to my bed in sickbay. This time I lie down and roll onto one side, closing my eyes. Other than this prostration, I attempt to betray no further evidence of how physically ill I have become.

McCoy glances up. "That's your fifth visit to the commode."

His comment does not merit a response. More so I do not wish to acknowledge my discomfort. I fleetingly wonder if the doctor can hear the disconcerting noises coming from my abdomen.

The doctor stands and comes to my bedside. "Can you do this?" He holds up two fingers.

I mimic his motion and raise an eyebrow.

"That's your safety signal. If you can still hold up those two fingers, that's your signal to me that you can handle your symptoms. If you can't or don't respond when asked, I'll know to intervene."

I am irritated by his implication. "If I require your assistance I will be certain to _ask _for it."

The Doctor just gives me a level stare and blows air sharply from his nose. "Sure." He fusses with a pair of gloves as he studies the medical monitor over my head. "The drug's finally starting to work out of your system."

Just…starting? I swallow. I have already found withdrawal quite…uncomfortable.

The Doctor raises an eyebrow at me. "You ready for the isolation unit?"

A wave of anxiety rolls through me and I swallow. McCoy shows no expression and makes no attempt to offend me, which is not reassuring.

I sit up with some difficulty, and swing my feet off of the bed. When I try to slide onto my feet I stagger and McCoy grabs my arm, as if he had expected my instability. I look at him, trying to not show how unexpected this development is for me.

I must depend on the Doctor's strength to relocate to the isolation unit. I sit on the edge of the bunk and switch on the keyboard projector, and am admittedly relieved. As long as I can work, I should be able to focus my mind.

I look at the reinforced door and glance up from the bed to McCoy. "How…long will I be in here?"

"Probably a couple of standard days."

He kindly does not remind me that we have previously gone over the treatment plan. I am…anxious, and it is most…unpleasant. Yes, I am experiencing emotions again. I struggle to locate my habitual controls. Apparently the Kohlinaroin atrophied my control along with my emotions. I realize I am still staring at the reinforced doorway to the unit.

"I'll be right here with you the entire time. At no point will I leave you alone."

"I have organized an extensive agenda of work to occupy my time. However, should you demand interaction, we could work together to review the calibration specifications of your laboratory equipment units seventeen to fifty as their regular recertification deadlines are nearing."

The Doctor's mouth twitches. "You're stalling."

True to form, Dr. McCoy could not resist an emotional jibe. I realize I am nearly frowning. I control my expression and turn without responding. I begin to work. Unexpectedly, I jump and my shoulders twitch at the sound of the reinforced door clamping shut behind Doctor McCoy. I breathe out slowly, attempting to release the tension in my neck and back.


	8. Chapter 8

McCoy's POV

I note the time Spock enters the isolation unit in his medical file and send off a quick note to Lieutenant Uhura to let her know the worst part's starting.

She wanted to be here and I told her to stay away. He wouldn't want her to see him suffer; she seemed to understand, when I put it to her that way. Let him keep his male dignity.

I've watched the healers work with Vulcan kids going through Kohlinaroin withdrawal: how the healers would stay with them as the drug worked its way out of their system. Some kids were screamers, and would beg for the drug. Most would eventually go into what looked like a catatonic state. All were incredibly depressed at the end, having eaten a big slice of humble pie. Evidently, Vulcan control is a life's work, and daunting to rebuild once those walls crumble. Maybe it's hard to face just how far their normal psychological state is from true non-emotion.

So far, Spock's followed the expected Vulcan track: lethargy and the digestive system purging itself. He actually hasn't been as combative as expected at this point, but I didn't really want to wait until that happened. I have a healthy new respect for the Vulcan obsession with emotional control after seeing Spock loose it on the Bridge. Better to get him in there a little early.

It rips my heart, though, to see him anxious like this. Not that I'd ever tell him.

I've set up a workstation by the observation window, so I, too, can work while he goes through withdrawal. I figure it's likely he can deal with the symptoms for another ten hours at least. I'll work for a bit, then crash on the nearest bed for a while, so I can make it through the second day.

I wake after four hours. He's still working.

After another couple hours sleep: yes, still working, but I can see he's slowed down, and is leaning onto his forearms. By the time I get back from a quick sonic shower he's pacing and rubbing his neck.

I press a button. "You okay in there?"

He spares me an unreadable glance and then raises his hand and extends his middle finger. After a moment he follows it with his index one; two fingers, the signal he's doing okay. And communicated in a logical way, in my book. I bite back a grin.

I go back to my reports. Spock's medical read-out runs an active window along the side of my screen so I can constantly monitor him as I work.

For a while he exercises. Sit ups. Running in place. He sits, then stands. Runs some more. He goes back to his monitor and works, but for shorter and shorter periods interspersed with more exercise. God, the discipline.

I'm pretty distracted reading my research periodicals when a muffled sound grabs my attention. He's bent forward, arms tight across his chest.

"Hey, you okay still?"

He looks away, but holds up two fingers like a victory sign before staggering to his bunk and taking up a meditation pose.

That lasts for several hours, interspersed with lying down.

I'm startled to look up and see Spock looking back at me. He's seated himself in front of the treatment window. I must have nodded off.

I flick audio on. "Sorry, Spock."

"No need to apologize, Doctor." His words are even, but strained. I note his pupils are widely dilated. I glance at my monitor and it confirms he's got to be in severe pain.

"How ya holding out?"

He looks down, chewing on his lower lip. "Perhaps…not so well."

I wait, letting him make the next move.

"Are…are you certain…" He swallows, clearly working at controlling. "Would it…not be logical to allow…The Compounding Device has…" His face twists. "I need…"

"You know I can't give you more of the drug. There's no partial withdrawal." I say it gently, knowing how that computer brain of his is probably short-circuiting with the emotional overload that's now hitting it.

"You _must…."_ He swallows, and I can see his frustration at his own loss of control. His hands clench into fists. "…most difficult."

"Hang in there, Spock. You can do this."

He takes a couple of jerky breaths. "Your sadism knows no bounds, Doctor."

I chuckle. "Yes, you have no idea."

"I am beginning to."

"Maybe you should try meditating some more."

"No…I…" He rubs distractedly at his left arm, as if it is hurting him.

What a sorry thing that I'm all he has for company, I think. This is the quiet Vulcan version of panic, the unspoken need not to be left alone. "Shall we work on those calibrations, Commander?"

He swallows. "Yes."

It works to distract him for quite a while, and I guess I can't complain about getting his help working through all the equipment calibrations, a tedious job at best. We're almost done when I catch him rubbing his arm again.

"Does your arm hurt, Spock?" I glance at his readings and don't see any worrisome reason for it.

He looks down almost as if he were observing someone else's motion, but does not change position. He glances up at me as if willing me to understand something.

"You'll have to spell it out for me, Spock. I'm not telepathic."

He closes his eyes, as if remembering and nods. "I cannot bear to remember. I cannot bear to put it out of my mind."

Well, that's cryptic enough. "Tell me."

"On Vulcan. My mother clung to my arm here…" He squeezes his right hand over his left elbow. "The sensation doesn't leave me. The sense of her hand…here."

Spock and the High Council-his father among them—had materialized aboard, and his mother had not. There had been a moment in the transporter room when Spock was visibly distraught. In the debriefing, it was noted that at beam-out the surface collapsed beneath the Ambassador's wife. There weren't any details. To Fleet's credit, I guess no one was heartless enough to ask for them.

"I cannot recall if she stepped away from me for the beam up pattern or if I pushed her away. I cannot recall." He looks down, and I realize his eyes are glazed with tears, but he blinks once and they're gone. "Standard protocol. The standard pattern should have been safer." He takes a short breath. "I led her forward from the mountain behind us. Boulders…"

"Go on. Tell me what happened."

He rubs again at his arm, shaking his head. He closes his eyes, remembering with effort. He cock's his head to one side. "I arrived on Vulcan's surface to violent shaking…the landscape crumbling….The Great Hall, a cavern….collapsing; warning…the High Council. I took mother's hand… we ran. Minister Shevek…crushed beside us as a section of ceiling fell…the exit had collapsed but for a narrow passage. Minister T'Ssa… crushed in further collapse. Boulders…falling from the mountain above us. We exited to a ledge…"

He shakes his head and looks up at me. He swallows. "There are no words for what I witnessed. My planet…collapsing into itself. My home…Shi'Kahr…" He closes his eyes. "Everything collapsing downward…the Llangon Mountains. The gravitational pull…"

"You called for beam out."

"Yes."

"What happened next, Spock?"

"I shouted not to move. Beaming initiated. She turned, looking from me to father. Her eyes were…" His voice trails out into a whisper, his hands twitching. For a moment I don't think he can continue, but he takes a breath and squares his shoulders. "I could see the transporter's energy waves beginning to coalesce when the ledge collapsed beneath her." His eyes are glassy again, and this time he blinks to no effect. "Even over the billions of Vulcans crying out as they died, I still…heard…her scream as she fell."

"And then you were aboard the ship."

"Yes."

"You still thought she might…"

"Yes. Materialize. For me…she died there."

He is deeply haunted by this. "Spock—"

"Since then I have analyzed our beam-out. If I had continued to hold onto her she would have survived."

It might be my only chance to address this neurosis head on. "So…you killed your mother. Your bad decision killed her."

"Yes." He responds and then blinks. He stares at me blankly for a long moment. "I believe I was not consciously aware of this conclusion."

He turns away and stands shakily, and then walks stiffly to the bunk where he curls on his side, facing away from me. He doesn't make a sound but I'm sure he's crying, or close enough to it.

Sorry kid. Anyone would like to make feelings like those go away.


	9. Chapter 9

Kirk's POV

"You really think it would help?"

McCoy said coming out of treatment is as tough for Vulcans as going through it. He says my XO's withdrawn, possibly depressed, and refusing counseling.

Bones shrugs. "Just let him know he's not alone and that counseling helped you."

I seat myself next to the bed, and if not for his open eyes I'd wonder if he was even conscious. Maybe that's what makes me feel like I can tell him about Tarsus, the awful truth of it; about the _years _of counseling afterward. Truth be told…I should probably still be going. Nice two for the price of one trick, Bones. I stand to go and Spock suddenly seizes my wrist. He drops it when I turn.

"Jim…"

I don't have any more to say about anything, but I can see the concern in his face. Hey, I came here to help _him._ "When you're feeling better, let's pick up where we left off with those chess games."

"I would find that... acceptable."


	10. Chapter 10

Scotty's POV

I'm not much of one for sympathy calls, but the doctor asked me to tell Commander Spock my story. The Doctor knows about my brush with addiction. Not like it's a secret or any such, and generally speaking I've put it behind me.

The Commander looks like hell; so I just place the bottle of Vulcan Rain Wine on the nightstand beside him. I respectfully place my hands behind my back, and begin.

Back when I was in Admiral Archer's good graces—before I beamed his poor beagle…somewhere—I'd taken a bad fall at work. That's nothing unusual in my trade. Well, long story short, one thing led to another and pretty soon I'd had a full blown addiction to pain meds. The logical thing, so to speak, was to get treatment. So I did. Worked out well and in no time I was back at it. Not sure why Dr. McCoy wants me to share this with you Commander, but there it is.

Now begging your pardon and ye dunna look so well, I'll be getting back to work. Sir.


	11. Chapter 11

Chekov's POV

You are wary…fwary…er _very_ missed on the bridge, Commander. As you can see, Lieutenant Uhura is vorking with me to improof my Standard pronunciation. Doctor McCoy thought I should tell you my story.

I vas a street urchin ven I vas a child. I know many think of me as a child now, but then I vas wery, er vvvery, small, I vas a kleptomaniac. Yes. If a thing on your person vas not secure I could steal it. I am still quite good at this, in case this is useful information to know sometime. Anyhow, I vas wery bored. It vas an observant teacher who realized this and discovered I had much undeveloped potential. Da, that teacher and a move vith my parents to Moscow so I could study mathematics probably saved my life.

But the challenge of pickpocketing vas hard to resist, so…much counseling vas involved. I am better now. Of course Star Fleet and you, sir, keep me quite occupied. In fact, I am nearly complete revectoring your vormhole subspace wh-wave recalculations. However, in the third trans-mulitversal permutation, vell- Dr. McCoy tells me not to tire you.

So. Before I go I vould like to say how much I am sorry I lost your… mother. I can never make it up to you, sir, that I lost her life.

I appreciate you say I am not to blame, sir. I appreciate your commendation for saving those whom I did.

Please get vell sir. I miss you, as does Lieutenant Uhura, and everyone else on the bridge.


	12. Chapter 12

Sulu's POV

Commander. I hope you are recovering well. I…well; Doctor McCoy for some reason wanted me to tell you about the Vorak incident. I had a split second to decide whether to destroy the Vorak or the Shoalwater. Turned out the Shoalwater was derelict, but I didn't know it. I could have destroyed the Vorak and it was carrying a hundred school kids to Betazed. I don't know how I would have lived with myself if I'd chosen the Vorak. Either way, Starbase 11 was saved. But it haunts me. Knowing how close I came. They say the end can justify the means, but…it was a crapshoot at the moment. I think about that often. How I made a choice without knowing the consequences except in hindsight. Oh. Yes, I forgot to mention I did spend time in counseling learning to deal with it, though. It was surprisingly helpful.

Feel better soon, sir.


	13. Chapter 13

McCoy's POV

I sit on the bed across from Spock.

"I drank." He turns to look at me, his eyes hooded and his expression carefully neutral. "No, not just too much. I drank like I wanted to kill myself, and truth be told, I did. I fell apart after my dad died. I…helped him end his life. He was terminal, suffering. In a rotten piece of bad timing, two weeks after he passed, a cure was found. Then I felt like I'd killed him. So I might know something of what it's like to feel like you've killed someone you love."

I pinch the bridge of my nose for a moment, just breathing through the memories and some pretty nasty residual emotions. Damn.

"I fell apart. Long story short….I lost everything in my divorce: my practice, my friends, my wife, my daughter. I went on a six month binge and the only thing that stopped me was a call from my daughter. I woke up. I started to realize that I couldn't hurt myself without hurting her. I committed myself. I went through treatment. The only place interested in giving me a job after the mess I'd made of my life was Star Fleet. Hell, even that might be a sign of masochism, given how much I hate being in space. But at least my little girl can know I didn't give up. That I kept fighting. I didn't recover alone, either."

"I believe I get your point, Doctor." Spock sighs, still staring at the ceiling. "And the point of the others' stories."

"I hope that means you'll try counseling, Spock."

Spock closes his eyes. "Do not expect further displays of catharsis, Doctor." He says coldly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He turns and searches my face. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he lies back down and continues to stare at the ceiling.

"Acceptable." He finally capitulates.


	14. Chapter 14

Uhura's POV

The doctor told me to stay away; that it would be best to help Spock preserve his Vulcan dignity. No man, he said, wants his woman to see him weak.

God it's been hard. I even had to talk with his father. Sarek must have sensed something was off with Spock through their Vulcan familial 'link.' I intercepted his call and let him know Spock was recovering from a problem with some medications. It wasn't exactly a lie. He seemed to accept it, mostly based on my reassurance.

Dr. McCoy notified me that Spock was out of detox. I rushed down to sickbay and the doctor's trying to update me on Spock's medical condition but he gives up when he sees he's not holding my attention.

He sighs. "Okay. Go see lover-boy in there, but keep it clean and don't over-do it. He's exhausted, mentally and physically. Emotionally, too, and you know as well as I that he'd die before he'd admit it."

I stop at the foot of his bed and call his name softly.

He quickly sits up and holds his hands out to me, and I slowly go to him. When I place my hands on his palms, he pulls me into an embrace, nuzzling my hair and whispering my name. I push away to study his face, but he has a hard time meeting my eyes. I put my hands on either side of his face.

"How are you…feeling?"

"Terrible. Better."

"Look at me."

I see all the emotions that have been absent from those once again beautifully expressive eyes: guilt and shame, and exhaustion, but also love, desire. "You're back." I say, my voice cracking.

"I'm…sorry." He whispers, his eyes searching my face. "I do not entirely understand my own actions. What I did was…most illogical." His hands wrap around mine and he pulls them to his chest. "I am…most grateful you are here."

And then the next thing I know we've been making out for I don't know how long and I'm in the bed beside him, his hand sliding along my side. The lights dim and I hear the click of the privacy lock.

I giggle nervously, embarrassed to have lost all decorum like that. Poor Dr. McCoy.

Spock touches a finger to the tip of my nose. "What makes you laugh?"

"Dr. McCoy has just offered us a little privacy."

"A fascinating therapeutic choice." He leans his forehead against mine. "I approve."


End file.
